


The Cory Inn

by MelissaCamelfloss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Broken Dean Winchester, Broken Sam Winchester, Brother/Brother Incest, Dean Winchester in Denial, First Time Blow Jobs, Guilty Pleasures, Help, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Impala, M/M, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Sex, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelissaCamelfloss/pseuds/MelissaCamelfloss
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester are on the road directly after failing to save a mother and her son from an unidentified monster. They have destroyed the creature, of course, though it has been a while since they were unable to protect the victims of a case from the thing they were hunting. Both brothers are emotionally wrecked, even if the kind of situation is not unfamiliar to them, and they look for lodgings for the night in a roadside inn that they pass on the way out of town. Once settled, while Dean aims to become profusely drunk after the tragic events of the night, Sam unexpectedly approaches his brother in a most unorthodox way hoping to comfort him. This leads to the brothers facing a conflict that, for once, doesn't involve monsters, demons, and ghosts.





	1. The Cory Inn

**Author's Note:**

> This work does not necessarily take place during any particular season or episode. It is a stand-alone story that uncovers one of my guiltiest pleasures. If you are even remotely disgusted by Wincest, I implore you not to read this fic. This is for those who also, regrettably, cannot get enough of these two being involved with each other. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> \- Melissa Camelfloss

“Keep and eye out for a motel or a gas station,” Dean commented in a monotone voice. It was the first thing he had said in over two and a half hours.

None of Dean’s music played from the sound speakers inside the Impala. The only noise that buzzed between the Winchester brothers was the angry hum of the sixty-seven coursing above the speed limit on a black road leading to nowhere.

They were driving South, away from Bennett, Utah, a small, northeastern town that was comfortably isolated from the rest of the state. Dean and Sam were more than accustomed to awkward, tiny places, their line of work demanded that of them. But Bennett was unlike the usual hick-ville or the picture-perfect suburbia. It was coin-operated, and haunted by shadows… and Failure.

Dean and Sam were young, but they were educated in every creature one could possibly imagine. If they couldn’t pinpoint some slimy bastard, they could call Bobby, or look it up in John’s journal, not to mention make use of the perks of the internet, and archive books they could find in libraries and community and private colleges. For this particular case, neither one of the Winchesters had a single iota of understanding about what the thing was. Yet wasn’t long, however, before they realized it’s motive.

The monster, or whatever the hell it was supposed to be, was a luminescent, pasty creature that seemed to be coated in layers upon layers of dead skin. It was featureless in every sense of the word, all the way down to its fingertips, no sense of even hostility when it attacked… It targeted mothers with children from a range of infants to toddlers. And when it cornered a woman, it would, in some way, suck the life out of her in a vampiric fashion, except it took more than blood. It took everything that composed her body or her soul... Leaving her shrunken and dried, like that of a well-preserved corpse, organless, bloodless, a shell of crusted skin the only proof of her original existence. And what it took from the mother, it used to rejuvenate itself. Dead skin would become pink with life, facial features, a nose, a mouth, everything, would appear on its naked, lifeless face. It targeted newer mothers because they contained the most to offer, as they were nurturing their own young children, just as their bodies came to nurture the decaying, freakish being that came after them.

Dean and Sam were outside of a run-down house where a single mom and her three-year-old son lived. The two brothers were guarding attentively, they knew the monster would target Nina and Brain as they were the only mother and young child left on the block. The _thing_ was impossible to figure out what exactly it was, but the patterns were not difficult to spot. It worked in an organized fashion, hitting homes of the desired victims one block at a time.

The two heard a commotion inside, stormed into the house, and found the creature hovering over not one dried heap of skin, but two. Sam had told Brian to wait in the Impala while they looked after his mother, the only target the monster desired, but the boy entered the house through the dog-dog in the backyard when he heard his mother’s screams. The creature was morbidly quick… Both mother and child were sucked-clean and destroyed before Dean and Sam could hack the _thing_ it to death with their axes.

The Winchesters cleaned up the mess. The stench of the monster unbelievable as they scrubbed the blood from the walls and cheap hardwood floor. The two bodies were easy to bury as they were light as anything and small enough to fit together in a duffel bag before being respectively lowered into deep graves. Dean and Sam couldn’t risk police attention, not since they so often ran into trouble with the big boys. They burned their bloodied and ripped clothes, threw on clean ones, and hit the road all before 2 AM. 

That was all hours before their current position in the Impala, driving forward, and feeling the overwhelming sense of emptiness that they were so used to there was no need to emphasize it. The emptiness was not a lack of feeling, but rather a sense of loss so great, and a sense of failure so powerful, it left their souls and their hearts feeling as dry as the bodies they had buried hours before. Dry enough that tears would never come, but their throats would incessantly burn, and their thoughts would incessantly flash back to the realization that, once again, perhaps for the hundredth time, they couldn't protect the people they swore nothing would ever happen to.

Sam itched to say something, to break the silence. He was hurting, how could he not... But he knew that Dean would take it harder than he ever would. Both brothers suffered, absolutely unquestionably... But in different ways. Sam hurt because he so often felt like the idiot kid brother that made Dean and his father's lives put on pause to protect and keep him safe. Dean hurt because nothing he ever did would be good enough. If he saved a life, somewhere, someone else would die... Or watch a love die, or a friend, or a brother. He was nothing... Too small, too insignificant to protect or prevent or preserve. 

"Dean," Sam finally said as calmly as he could. "Look, you're speeding fast enough to drive us off the road-"

"Can it, Sammy," his brother replied, shutting him down instantly. Dean didn't care to hear anything at all but the sounds of Baby working to get them to some place where Dean could drink and Sam could crash. 

"Just slow down. Dude, seriously, we probably passed at least two motels already. Lets turn around."

Dean, without any warning, swerved the car to the side of the road. His anger was not towards Sam, it was quite obviously towards himself. But that didn't prevent him from raising his voice to an unnecessary volume. 

"You wanna walk back? Be my guest. You can crash in the graveyard. I am not turning around back in the direction where we laid hands on a mom and her kid's shrunken bodies because we fucked up another case. So either shut up and let me drive, or get out of the car." 

Sam directed his gaze back towards the dashboard of the Impala. There was just as much fury within him as their was within Dean... He merely knew when and when not to open his mouth. 

"I know you're upset, Dean. I am too... So... keep driving. I'm not getting into it with you, I don't have the energy. Let's go."

The older brother took a deep breath, and shook his head. "There's a sign up ahead for an Inn. Look there." He gestured towards a metal plate a few paces in front of the car that read  _Cory Inn, 4 Mi._ "Let's hope it's not all crack whores and motorcycles."

The sixty-seven  _vroomed_ , and within about seven minutes the brothers were pulling into a cheap, but comfortable looking Inn with a gas station located around the other side. Sam was the first to get out of the car and grab his backpack from the trunk, while Dean flicked through a few dollar bills in his wallet and eyes the gas station behind the Inn. 

"You know the drill," Dean said gruffly as he headed for the flickering lights behind the Inn.

Sam sighed and entered the humble place, asking for two queens and access to the laundry machine in the early morning. The older woman at the counter looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing in pity rather than skepticism. Before handing him the key to the room and accepting his money, she spoke in a low, hushed voice, "Son, you look like you're knee deep in trouble."

Sam tried to seem unaffected by her words, though he knew as well as she did that he had been through hell and back. "Rough night for my brother and I."

The woman handed Sam a single key, and took his cash at an analyzing pace. "Well, as long as no one died, right? Gotta look on the bright side."

Sam eyes went from a look of devastating pain to a look of blankness. "Yeah. The bright side... Uh, what time is checkout?"

"Anytime tomorrow, son, you take your time. Not too many folks come through this way, so there's no hurry." Her smile was a flicker of comfort, even after the night's events.

"Thanks, I'll let my brother know."

Sam walked down a short hallway and opened the door to a room that filled him with momentary relief. It didn't smell like cigarettes, the curtains weren't stained or patched. It was rather plain, the color scheme brown and grey, but after digging graves and hacking up a pale, grotesque monster... It was beyond welcome. 

The youngest brother removed his clothes and hopped into the tight little shower, scrubbing the blood from beneath his fingernails and the patches of dirt across his arms, neck, and face. Sam breathed deeply, closing his eyes, trying to think of anything rather than Nina and Brian. So he thought of Dean, of the look on his brothers face to the anger in his town when he had pulled the Impala over.  _Dean..._ He thought of the name again, then again. Then again. Vulnerability rose inside of him.

Sam heard the door to their room open and his older brother's voice echo into the bathroom. "Just me... I brought booze." 

"I'll be out in a minute," Sam replied dragging soap across his chest.

The night would be long. The only thing that followed failed cases was Dean drinking until Sam would have to drag him from a motel floor back to his bed. And Dean had bought three bottles of Jack Daniels, not simply one. 

Sam turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist, walking back into the main room. "Shower's yours," he said, praying Dean hadn't already started working on the first bottle.

Except, of course.. He had.

 


	2. "Sam... Enough."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, in an attempt to prevent Dean from drinking away his sorrows, tries to provoke his brother into opening up to him about not only the events of the night, but also his past. In this attempt, Dean bares his soul to Sam who returns the gesture by sharing his own inner turmoil. This sets the stage for what seems to be a newfound trust in each other, perhaps pushing boundaries away further than either of the Winchesters could care to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a build up of sexual tension, paving the way for much sexier chapters in the future. It is meant to establish a thicker bond between Dean and Sam, and also emphasize what each brother has gone through in their past and in their present. Hope ya'll can wait a bit longer for the naughty bits, though I hope you notice how suggestive I was with this chapter. Thanks!
> 
> \- Melissa Camelfloss

Dean eyed Sam up and down, eventually resting his eyes on the white towel wrapped around his waist. His brother, to his evident annoyance, really had grow up to be a handsome devil after all. Even on nights like this, when Dean felt like less than dirt beneath the tires of the Impala for not being able to prevent the death of Nina and Brian, he still couldn't ignore Sam's height, or his dripping wet hair, or the way Sam looked so different from himself despite the two of them sharing so many physical similarities to John. Dean blinked, and sat down on his bed, pulling out his flip-phone to see if there was any missed calls or messages from Bobby or anyone else hoping to get ahold of him. 

Sam typically did not resort to small talk, but in this case, with the inevitable passed-out Dean to await, he was willing to do anything to prevent his older brother from eyeing the bottle already in his hand, and the whiskey already on his lips. "The water pressure's great."

Dean raised an eyebrow, though he did not remove his gaze from his cell phone. "I'm sure it is, Sammy."

"Yeah, well, the last motel we stayed in had shitty water pressure so I was just... ah... informing you. Because you probably want to take a shower too after..."

Dean shook his head, smiling in mock-amusement to emphasize his automatic annoyance. "I know what you're trying to do. Just because I'm not a college boy doesn't mean I don't know that you're trying to distract me from this ol' thing." Dean raised the bottle of Jack Daniel's. "I know you, Sam."

"And I know you, Dean. I had a rough night too, do you think I want to spend the rest of it baby-sitting you, dealing with you nearly getting alcohol poisoning?" 

Dean drank directly from the head of the bottle then, sucking in his cheeks to dramatize the act of tasting the whiskey. "Ya think you'd be a bit more empathetic, Sam. I mean, what do you want me to do? Play a game of sharing and caring with my little brother? Maybe have a fucking cuddle session?" He took another heavy swig, grimacing as his chest tightened and his fists clenched. The alcohol hadn't hit him yet, he hadn't had enough. But the pleasant, soothing burn down his throat and the fiery taste only seemed to infuse the anger inside of him. 

Sam moved closer and grabbed the bottle from Dean. "Is it so wrong of me to want to talk about what happened? I wasn't going to push it with you, I rarely do. All the time I sit back and let you do whatever it is you need to do to forget or deal with people dying. But I can't just lay down and sleep while you drink to a point where I have to take you to some hospital, not this time."  

"I've never had to go to a hospital." Dean furiously tried to grab the bottle from Sam, and the two of them collided and he reached for it, Sam's bare chest touching Dean's clothed one. "Fine, I bought two more. Take that bottle for yourself, Sammy, you probably need it more than I do." 

"Dean..." Sam reached for his brother, grabbing his wrist. Their chests still touched, and Sam could smell the Jack Daniel's lingering on his brother's tongue. "Dean, please. For me, can you just... actually try and deal with this without acting like dad."

Dean pushed Sam backwards two steps, forcing him to let go of his wrist. "Dad drank every now and them, so fucking what? He went through worse than either of us, he had a right... He--"

"He hit you, Dean. Bad. Every time he had one too many. I don't want to see my older brother deal with his problems like this, the way dad did, I want you too--"

"Dammit Sammy, don't you get it?" There was a dragged out pause as Dean turned around and rummaged through the plastic gas-station bag for the other bottle. He downed a few solid swigs, his back facing his brother. "I can't do this... I can't deal with more death on my hands and not end it all. The only reason I haven't blown my brains out is because of you, and the only thing that keeps me going is knowing I can get strung-out drunk when I need to get a grip. When dad hit me, I probably deserved it. That's parenting for you, Sammy."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, and looked up at the ceiling helplessly. He watched for a long while as his brother drank, and it wasn't long before Dean's eyes appeared a bit glossy. 

"That wasn't 'parenting.' And you didn't deserve it. And tonight wasn't your fault."

"Thanks, mom, 'preciate it," Dean slurred, forcing an uncomfortable laugh. "Mind tucking me in? Giving me a goodnight kiss?"

"Most of the time you were protecting me when dad hit you, Dean." Sam ignored his brother's drunken words and spoke slowly and clearly, hoping Dean would be able to understand him in this state. "Dad would corner me, maybe I spilt soda on his notes on a case, or I would talk out of turn... You would run in front of me and take the blows so I didn't have to. Tonight, you and I did everything we could to help Nina and Brian, and we just weren't able to stop whatever  _ it _ was. That's not on any one of us, okay? That's just the job. Isn't that what you always say? We saved other people in Bennet, even if we lost  _ them _ . And hell, I'm angry too, Dean, I feel furious and violent inside. But I got you. And I need you to have me too. I don't want to watch you kill yourself like this, like you do all the time. Like dad did."

Dean turned to his brother, revealing a single tear running down his cheek, his eyes both glazed with the alcohol and with water. 

"I'm not gonna pretend I know how you hurt. Both of us do. But it's all not that simple. What we do isn't simple." The room was running three-sixties around Dean, and he marinated in the pleasantries of the whiskey, even if he knew he was bothering Sam. Even so, when the words poured, no amount of alcohol could dull the tugging at his chest. 

"I remember the first case I ever did on my own. Without dad. A ghost, typical haunting, nothing exotic. I identified the bastard, convinced this guy and his wife that the ghost was real, everything." Dean was quite literally forcing his mouth to move as precisely as he could, but the slurring was as evident as his pain was. "This ghost... he uh... got to me before I could burn his bones and bury them in salt. Killed the wife, killed her husband, all by the time I woke from being knocked out. And Dad... Fucking God... Dad was standing over me... He slapped me across the face... Told me I was weak, I was nothing... And hell, Sammy, he was right. Years later, years of fucking experience later, and some mom and kid are buried because I wasn't quick enough."

Dean took three solid swigs now, all without coughing. He needed the whiskey, Sam saw that now.

The younger brother sat next to the older brother and hesitated to reach out to him. He hadn't felt the urge to touch Dean by way of a hand on his shoulder, or a hug, in a gesture of comfort since the two of them were boys and Dean was covered in bruises from John. 

"Dean, dad was pathetic sometimes. I love him, so do you, but he was wrong. Really wrong. You've saved hundreds of people. You... You're better at than I ever was." Sam now felt his own anguish and pain surface from the core of his stomach to the middle of his chest. "I was never like you Dean. I never stood up to dad to defend you, I wasn't satisfied with helping people from all the shit in this world no one believes in. I wanted a life... Not realizing the only real solace I could ever find would be actually saving a few people. Hunting things. Sometimes helping a family, a couple. Kids. Protecting the little goodness there is in this world. Being with my brother."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes now, and they mirrored each other. Lake water peering into forest leaves. The tears emboldened the colors of each Winchester, even if Dean's were utterly glazed by this point by the copious amount of alcohol. 

"Sam..." 

His name came to life on Dean's lips. 

Sam inched forward until their faces were inches apart. Then centimeters. 

"Dean..."

"So you don't regret this life. Even after nights like tonight." Dean's questions were plainly more of statements. 

Sam reached forward and cupped his brother's cheek, running this thumb along the other man's jaw. The whiskey on his brother's breath, for once, didn't bother him, nor did Dean's drunkenness. Sober, Dean would never allow Sam this close to him. Nor would he allow him to run his palm along Dean's clavicle as Sam was doing now.

"No, I don't regret this life. There was a time when I did, but not anymore. Not now."

Dean closed his eyes, noticing how quickly his heart began to stampede in his chest, and how there was a sudden ache south of his navel. He himself began to touch Sam, innocently at first, moving his fingertips through his younger brother's hair... Then down his neck... Then over the smooth, iron hardness of Sam's left pectoral.  "Sam... Enough. I'm drunk... And you're sappy."

Sam moved his palm, now, beneath Dean's shirt to feel the skin over the layer of abdominal muscles. "We're just brother's Dean."

Dean let out a meek little whimper, not exactly a moan, but more an exhale of warm breath. He leaned back on the bed and Sam followed, hovering over his brother.  "Get off me, Sammy. You know better than to mess with me."

Sam lowered his face so that when he spoke, his lips moved against Dean's jaw. "Shut up Dean."

Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe not. But Dean jolted upward, suddenly overcome with disgust towards Sam (though more harshly towards himself). "What the fuck was that about--"

"As if you didn't reciprocate." Sam looked away towards the curtains and beyond the window to the view of the Cory Inn parking lot. 

"I'm wasted--"

"With a conscience enough to understand," Sam interrupted.   


"Understand what exactly?" Dean was confused, profusely confused. He didn't understand the interjectory tenderness, nor his own... what was it... pleasure? Longing? No, he wouldn't allow his mind to even drift there.

"I... I don't know." Sam went quiet.

"Well don't bother figuring it out," Dean said with an intended sharpness to his voice. He had finished more than half of one of the bottles, including a few sips from the one Sam had confiscated, and was hitting him hard. 

"Dean--"

"Enough, Sam."

 

 

 

  
  
  


  
  



	3. Here And Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Dean and Sam had their "innocent" little exchange, Sam finds the courage to act on impulse, coaxing Dean into a delightful, sinful position where the two of them can simply not rebound. With inexplicable chemistry evident between the two Winchester boys, there is only one direction for them to go my dears, and that is forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite yet, my friends, not quite yet. But oh dear, the inevitable naughtiness is just right around the corner.

Sam stared at the Inn wall opposite the right side of his bed while he remained horizontal, robotically mesmerized by the subtle discoloring of brown and grey wallpaper. He was, at least, able to direct his thoughts elsewhere from the out-of-character behavior he instilled last night towards his older brother. Sam prayed Dean’s memory was hayed enough to not be able to recollect the context of their abrupt intimacy once he woke up, but that hope was dwelling in the back of his brain.

The younger Winchester, desperately trying to avert his attentions to something other than… well, quite frankly, from the fact that there was an aspect of sexual curiosity between he and Dean, commanded his mind to think only of how hungry he was, how thirsty. He hasn’t eaten a meal since breakfast the previous day, and he hadn’t bothered to satisfy his dehydration before the morning came.

Careful to not stir up too much noise from the slight creaks in his mattress, Sam rose and walked into the bathroom to drink directly from the faucet over the sink. Water dripped down his chin, then trickled down his neck as he lapped at the spout, quenching not only his parchedness, but also all thoughts of the obscenities that crawled into his dreams regarding a certain brother of his.

 _Dean…_ The name he spoke every day of his life now seemed equal to that of a sex confession in regards to how private it was, how secular.

“Can you move, the walls are closing in on me,” Dean said in a quality of voice so groggy, he sounded twenty years older than he was.

“How’s the hangover?” Sam’s question appeared to be more playful than the atmosphere in the bathroom required. “You look like hell.” He backed out of Dean’s way and watched as his brother leaned over the sink to decide whether to throw up or take a few sips of water.

“Bite me, Sammy,” Dean shot at his younger brother pathetically. Standing at all was hard enough, let alone dealing with Sam’s pestering.

Sam, in his stance by the shower, took note that Dean had slept in his clothes again. He was still considerably dirty from not taking a shower after hacking a monster to death with an ax, his hair was disheveled, his skin looked thin over the bones on his face. The Jack Daniel’s from about five hours before didn’t exactly contribute to his current state, and nor did the fact that despite it all, Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“Do you need me to—“

“No. Just let me hack up my insides in peace.”

This short exchange was, naturally, followed by one of Sam’s notorious head-nods, and half, short-lived smiles that interpreted more of a facial shrug than any emotion. He moved to walk passed Dean, accidentally bumping his brother on the way out of the narrow, wood door.

Dean immediately, but rather hazily, seemed to forget his hangover-nausea and faced Sam with deliberate intent. “None of this bullcrap, Sammy. We’re not gonna talk about it, we’re not gonna think about it.” He was, indeed, referring to the confidential acuteness that occured between the two of them last night.

Sam first stared blankly,  then shook his head, managing to meet Dean’s penetrative gaze. “I don’t see the harm, Dean. We were coping with the baggage that comes along with the job. There isn’t anything wrong with confiding in each other, we’re brothers, and you have this messed up ‘macho’ thing where you think you have to keep a straight face when we watch people die, or when we drive away from a town where we couldn’t save people. It’s stupid.”

“Oh, so getting overly cozy with your brother is your idea of ‘confiding,’” Dean retorted, automatically becoming defensive as the topic thickened its sensitivity. “This isn’t the first time you’ve pulled this shit. When you were a kid I knew there was something off about you, the way you would...” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate on the details.

“You hypocrite,” Sam accused bluntly. “As if you didn’t want me to start it, as if you didn’t react.”

“I was drunk, you freak!” Dean’s exclamation wasn’t much of a yell, but rather an increase in the intensity of his tone.

“Even now its on your mind…” Sam’s statement drifted between them, then settled like that of picture drawn in the air with a permanent sharpie. He knew he was right, he knew it was only a matter of second before he would confront the tension between them. “Prove to me this is nothing, that whatever is going on is some gross curiosity. Go on.”

Dean was rashly taken aback. His cock swelled, then, as he imagined taking Sam up on his ridiculous commands, as he imagined pushing Sam onto the mattress closest to the bathroom and fucking him relentlessly, friction rising as they grinded on one another, and the sweet, inevitable release of cuming inside Sam as they cursed and swore in the midst of their sex. “I don’t have anything to prove.”

“Oh, really…” Sam questioned quietly. He took a step closer to his brother, and fighting back all forms of the heavy intimidation, ran a hand beneath Dean’s shirt, resting it on his lower stomach, soon moving around his upper hips to reside on Dean’s lower back. “So you don’t feel anything.”

“I feel disgusted--”

“You feel alive, Dean. You feel me.”

“Sammy--”

“Shut… The fuck… Up. If you act on it, nothing matters. We kill monsters and ghosts for a living, this is far from bizarre.”

Sam took the initiative. He leaned forward and nuzzled his lips to the gentle section of skin beneath Dean’s ear. There, he opened his mouth to graze his teeth gently along the way. “Prove me wrong.” His hand slid south, beneath the rim of Dean’s jeans, beneath the rim of underwear, to explore the fine protrusion of his Dean’s ass.

Dean felt his brother against him, felt his lips, his teasing words, his hand molding into the curve of his backside. Sam’s scent was similar to his own when he didn’t reek of whiskey: all musk and leather… And his voice dripped with masculine sexuality, seducing him, coaxing him to react.  Dean’s cock pulsed in keen response, as did his blood as it rushed downward to feed the eagarnes of his member.

“I want you, Sam…” was all Dean could say as slid his own hands up his brother’s shirt to feel the excellently sculpted muscles between Sam’s shoulders. He pressed his pelvis against Sam’s and bit his lower lip as he looked down at the sight of their bodies so wonderfully entwined.

Sam didn’t have to wait, not for another microsecond. He dove for Dean’s mouth, opening it, claiming it as he tasted whiskey, but also something else entirely, something indescribable, the secular taste of his older brother that bordered on sweet, but was not quite so distinct as one might imagine. The kiss consumed them both as they sucked and created, a heat brewing between them beyond anything they had felt with the women they had dallied with.

As their tongues collided, and as their moans increased in volume, it became clear that such zeal could not continue to be suppressed. Dean and Sam would have to take it further. Here and now.

 


End file.
